


The Northern Road

by Grayson (justic3ord34th)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire, Homestuck, game of thrones
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 04:32:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justic3ord34th/pseuds/Grayson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A western knight and an eastern priestess come together to search for a single man lost in a war-torn landscape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Northern Road

"It's not as though I'm questioning your morals, mind. It's more your common sense. We're walking into a trap, it's plain as day. The wolves and squids are all across the north, the lions are swarming in the south, and all their petty lords are busy handing out the whore of their palms to each other at every other side." The blonde knight shook his head and frowned, hand resting uneasily on the grip of his sword. "I don't like it at all. Somehow I very much doubt those sellswords were telling the truth. Why would a boy go marching into a battlefield when he has no allies and every enemy to worry about?"

The lady rolled her eyes and gave her horse a little kick to spur it on faster. She wanted nothing more than to simply lean over and shove her nattering companion out of the saddle, but that would serve only to give him  _more_  to talk about. She turned her violet eyes up toward the sky instead, peering into the dark grey from underneath her deep hood. Not that there was much to see, of course. Only grey clouds, a few birds, a patch of blue here and there. The lady wondered if one of them might be a raven, winging its way to King's Landing. Perhaps the war was over and they had nothing to fear from the road ahead. The thought enjoyed a brief life before she snuffed it and discarded it. Even in peacetimes they would have difficulties on the road. A single knight wearing full plate and chain, good steel in his sheath, a minor house on his shield and on his chest (a black raven with a gear clutched in its claws, on a red field)--an easy target for bandits and foemen looking for a simple bounty. Many simply called him the Strider, though his name was Daven of House Strider. 

Let alone her, the woman with violet eyes, fair hair, and a brightly colored hooded cloak. They called her the Sunseer, or the Sunkissed Lady. She had once been a devout servant of R'hllor, Lord of Light, but the others had a less-than-open view on her persistent doubts and tendency to think around the barriers they had set. Her mind began to wander back down the dark lanes it had once traveled, the paths that had set her firmly outside of the clergy and the faith of the Red God.  _The night is dark and full of terrors, and you went walking right into all those dark, terrible things, didn't you?_  She forced her mind away from it, reminding herself once again that she stood apart, that she served in her own way. R'hllor was the Red God, and she was his Sunseer, the brightest light. That was all that mattered. 

She glanced over at Daven again as his river of speech rushed heedlessly on. He'd moved on from his distrust of Tyroshi sellswords to his distrust of trees in general. "They're only good for perching," he said, shaking his head, "and even then it's like as not bandits perching among the birds." 

"Ser Daven, I'm beginning to wonder if you ever pause for breath or thought." Her interruption was smooth enough to stop him before he could speak again, and he glanced at her sharply. He had a very pointed glance, as potent as her own could be. His eyes, unlike her exotic violet hues, were a deep, rich brown, almost crimson in color. They were said to be weak against strong sunlight, which is why she supposed he'd first met her with his helm on and visor down, and hadn't removed it until they'd gone inside. House Strider existed on a narrow stretch of land along the Neck, west of the Twins and bordering the Cape of Eagles. As she understood it Ser Daven had been on his way to the Twins to ask boons of his liege lord, Lord Walder Frey, when word of the Red Wedding had reached him. Despite being a Frey bannerman, he had still balked at asking anything of a man who would so brazenly break the laws of hospitality, and turned himself south, thinking to perhaps beg the king himself for a favor of some sort.

Of course, then the boy king Joffery had choked to death, and Daven had been quite lost. The Sunseer had come across him in Duskendale, sitting in a tavern with an empty mug of mead before him, looking as forlorn as she could imagine. He never had told her what the favor he'd meant to beg was, and whenever she asked he closed up into himself and fell silent. It was the only thing she knew of that could quiet him, but she held no delusions that it would work forever. Eventually the knight would talk about it and then she'd have no reprieve at all. 

"As it happens I do, Lady Sunseer. I didn't simply agree to accompany you for no reason at all. There's much thought put behind each of my actions, even if I have the tendency to voice much of it. Or is it that you think me a fool for doing so?" He sounded so indignant that she almost laughed in his face, but she knew better than to rankle the pride of a knight. She smirked, though, and gave a little sigh. 

"Hardly a fool, ser, though I find want in the lack of complexity to your thoughts."

He scoffed. "And what, pray tell, comprises a complex thought if not a series of base impulses? Do you suppose a thought made in High Valyrian is any more complex than one voiced in the common tongue, or the bastard Valyrian of Slaver's Bay? That the bravos of Bravos think smaller thoughts than the archmaesters of the Citadel? Perhaps you do, and if so it is my pleasure to inform you that you are absolutely mistaken. All men think the same complex thoughts, only some lack the words to seem more eloquent. An unlearned man worries about war in the same way a maester might, even if the core of their concerns differ. Don't think less of me for thinking, milady. It's not kind."

She bit her tongue all throughout, and when he finished she fixed him with her sharp gaze. "It is not your thought I take issue with, but the fact that you see a need to voice them as they come to you. Would not silence serve us better? In particular if you're so worried about bandits and outlaws, why broadcast our presence to any within earshot? All I question, ser, is your silence, not your wit." He scowled and fell into brooding silence, so she left him there, riding a few feet ahead to drive the point home. So long as he didn't speak, she thought, this might not be as much a trial as she had feared. In truth she wasn't entirely sure why she'd come to Westeros, why she'd chased a single man from King's Landing all the way to Duskendale and now beyond, why she needed to find him. She had seen his face in the flames, and even if the clergy no longer allowed her to call herself a Red Priestess she remained a devout of R'hllor. If the Red God desired that she find the boy, she had little reason to deny him his will. 

They rode half a league in companionable silence before the knight finally spoke again. When he did his voice had softened, and he rode closer to speak to her. "I don't know much of your god, but I know enough to wonder what your name is. We've been traveling for two days now, don't you think you'd best tell me? I'd rather not have to refer to you as woman, or lady, or Sunseer, or whatever other monikers spring to mind."

She laughed, a soft sound, and her lips twisted into her wry, almost sarcastic smile. "I abandoned my birth name when I took the Red God into my heart, but I've since taken a liking to Rozlyn. If you need a name then that shall suffice."

"Rozlyn, then." He nodded, satisfied. Another moment passed, and then he said, "You told me we were looking for a boy, a 'prentice smith. I might be of more use if you told me more about him. Name, appearance, whatever suits you."

Rozlyn thought a moment, both on the name she'd given and the task she'd set out to complete. The name would have to suffice. Despite all his blustering about intelligence he was a simple sort of man, and juggling more names than she'd given him already would only serve to confuse. She sensed Ser Daven growing restless with her silence, and the smirk widened on her face. "Black hair, and as thick as a man his age can be. No older than twenty, no younger than sixteen, but regardless a man grown. Supposedly he saved every copper he could to have a maester craft a pair of lenses for him, since his eyes are already growing faulty. Deadly with a hammer, or so I heard."

"And his name?" interrupted the knight impatiently.

She gave him a withering glare and only turned away when he broke eye contact. "Your fascination with names defies me, ser. They all have little weight, the names we are handed at birth. Yours means nothing, the one I gave you means nothing, all of our titles and deeds and valor are for naught. It vexes me that you are so concerned for the name of this boy, but so be it. I needs must satiate your craving, it would seem." She looked back at him, inspecting the lines of his face. Not for the first time she thought that the shape of his jaw was altogether pleasing. There were certainly less sightly companions to travel with. "His name is Jon."


End file.
